


The Ashkaari from Par Vollen

by PeriPeriwinkle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, M/M, Minor Violence, Platonic Relationships, Post-Trespasser, Qunari Culture and Customs, Saarebas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5763580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeriPeriwinkle/pseuds/PeriPeriwinkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imekari sometimes was ashamed of her horns; the other imekaris teased her and called her ox because of their unusual shape. But deep down she wanted to be proud of them, because her bearer's were wider and mightier, and he was proud of them for it.</p>
<p>Hissrad, his name was. <i>Yes</i>, she <i>would</i> be proud of them, just like he was, and she would grow big and strong and powerful to better serve the Qun.</p>
<p>Just like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ashkaari from Par Vollen

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a prompt I saw on tumblr, about "what if Bull had a kid that he didn't know about", and unfortunately I can't find it anymore ; v ; (if anyone can link me to it I'd be really happy!)
> 
> So yeah, basically I accidentally created two OCs and wrote a huge story about them. WHOOPS???
> 
> As usual, if you spot any errors pls let me know! And I hope you enjoy it!!! ^_^

“Tama, why does Koslun hate me?”

The girl’s Tamassran looked down at the young one, at her puffy and red eyes, glistening with fresh tears and the small, bleeding gash on her still growing left horn. She widened her eyes and picked the girl up, shushing her softly until she stopped sobbing.

“Why would you say such a thing, Imekari?” She whispered to the girl, cradling her gently. The imekari sniffed and looked up, round brown eyes pleading.

“The other kids tease me because of my horns, Tama. They say I look like an ox, and that I would’ve been better if I was born  _hornless_ instead.” Her Tama tensed, the lines in her face almost looking deeper for a second, and the girl ducked her head in shame, wondering if she’d said something wrong. “Is it true, Tama? Do I really look like an ox?”

“ _Never_ ,” the Tamassran breathed out, hugging the girl tighter to her chest. “Do not pay attention to them, my Imekari. Your horns are special because they are different, and you should be proud of them.”

A second of heavy silence passed, where the girl pondered on the woman’s words.

“Did my bearers have horns like mine, Tama? Is that why they... why they look like this?”

For a second the older woman was stunned into silence, and the imekari looked up, slightly shocked. Never she’d managed to do so, to get her Tama so impressed she had no words left in her. A wrinkled hand gently brushed a lock of black hair that fell on the girl’s face, and the imekari waited, patiently.

“You’re much too smart for your own good, Imekari. Just like Ashkaari.”

“Ashkaari?” She asked, tilting her head, and her Tama nodded with a small grin, reaching for a tissue to wipe the girl’s nose and then using the clean side on her horn, dabbing gently at the coagulated blood.

“Yes,” she said, gently, and her face twisted in deep thought, as if she was considering whether or not she should keep talking. The imekari lowered her head and looked down at her lap, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, and patiently waited. Her Tama sighed, deeply, and pocketed the tissue, slowly moving her hands to braid the girl’s hair as she picked her words apart, as carefully as she handled the locks tangled around her thick fingers. “Ashkaari was one of my own, many years ago,” she whispered, “just like you. He now goes by Hissrad. He’s a wonderful man, with marvellous, unique horns, wider than his own body and just as powerful as his spirit. He was never ashamed of them, no matter what others said... and neither should you be, Imekari.”

“Is there anyone else like me, Tama? Born under Hissrad?” She asked, unable to contain her curiosity, and Tama frowned, appearing worried.

“You’re too sharp, Imekari.”  _Much like your bearer_ was left implied, filling the silence as she frowned. “But if it’ll appease you, then no. Hissrad only ever mated once, before he left to join the Ben-Hassrath, and you were the only Imekari that was born from him.”

She nodded, content, reaching up to touch her horns with gentle fingers. They’d continue to grow outwards, surely. Maybe she could use them to threaten the other boys if they dared to tease her again, she thought giggling, wondering if Hissrad ever did that himself, back when he was Imekari. It brought a smile to her lips.

“Thank you, Tama.”

\---

The title of Ashkaari was given to her not much later, as she continued to use her head to think instead of bashing horns, like many of the other young imekaris under her Tama’s care did. She puffed up proudly with her title, thinking that Hissrad, wherever he was, would probably be happy to know that he had an offspring as incredible and as important to the Qun as he was.

Ashkaari took the tasks assigned to her with very good will, happy to be helpful to the whole and an active part of the society, but most days something troubled her deeply. Her best friend, a boy as tall as she was stocky, with backwards curling horns and kind, bright hazel eyes, had not yet been assigned a role, even though he was a year older than Ashkaari. Tama once told Ashkaari that everyone bloomed on their own time, and soon enough he’d reach his own. The girl bit her lip then and prayed for Koslun to guide her friend; she’d heard macabre stories of Imekaris who never found their role in their society, and were either culled to make space for useful ones or went mad and became Tal-Vashot. Or worse, were forced to consume  _qamek_. She wanted none of those things to  _anyone_ , but especially not him.

Years passed since she was given a title, puberty hitting both of them head on, and yet her friend had not been given one. Ashkaari saw how he always avoided the others, shyly hiding on his cabin, writing on his journal or braiding flower crowns. Ashkaari and their Tama were the only ones he was ever comfortable with, and often the two walked around the forest once their duties for the day were finished, sitting by the river and tossing pebbles into the water.

“Ashkaari,” he whispered, turning a perfectly round and smooth rock on his hand. He thumbed the patterns of colours and flipped it in his hand, smiling softly as if he approved of it. Ashkaari knew from experience that he’d take the pebble back with him, hide it with the others inside the box beneath his bed. Tama would surely scold him for it if she ever found out about his collection, for taking a liking to a useless physical object and wanting to keep it solely for its beauty, but Ashkaari appreciated anything that made the shy boy smile. “Do you have a name for me?” He asked, hesitant.

“How do you mean?” Ashkaari questioned, looking him over. He kept staring at the rock in his hand, pressing harder onto it as he seemed to look for the right words, his cheeks darkening slightly.

“I mean... when you think of me. Do you have a... a name for me?”

For a second, she thought. She’d seen adults that often assigned names to one another, disregarding their titles. Kadan was the most common, and she’d heard Hissera too, maybe once or twice.

“Kost,” she replied, smiling softly. “I feel at peace when I’m with you, so if you’ll let me, I want to call you Kost.”

He smiled widely then, the light grey of his face reddening with a deeper blush, the corner of his eyes crinkling. Ashkaari decided she found the sight beautiful, and couldn’t help but smile back, giggling happily.

“Kost,” he said, testing it on his tongue, smiling harder and harder with a joy that rarely found its way to his expression. “I like it. Thank you.”

\---

Their Tamassran soon found out about the title. Ashkaari’s explanation was sound: Kost wanted a title that wasn’t “Imekari” anymore, and Ashkaari offered him one that fit the role that he had in her life. The Tamassran asked, exactly, how the title of “peace” fit said role, and she shrugged, saying that it described how she felt when they were together, that it was different from when she was with the other kids. The reply, no matter how logical, only made the older woman frown deeper, lines of worry framing her face.

“Ashkaari, you’re treading a very dangerous path,” she scolded, a tone that wasn’t used on Ashkaari ever since she was tiny and her horns were nothing but nubs. “What you did for your friend is not frowned upon, but remember: we all have our roles, and these roles will drive the two of you away eventually, and when that day comes you _must_ let each other go. Asit al-eb. Think hard on the feelings that led you to call him Kost, what makes them different, and work even harder to push them away. They have no place under the Qun.”

\---

Ashkaari tried to do as her Tama told her, but she didn’t think it made sense. Why would her Tama want her to push away things that made her happy, and why did her feelings have no place under the Qun? Was she not able to do her job if she kept them as they were? She figured she could do them even better if she was happy, could she not? Maybe Tama thought they were a hindrance, a distraction, but it wasn’t like that. Ashkaari didn’t want Kost all to herself, nor did she want to mate with him, she just enjoyed his company and was happy when he was happy. So Ashkaari kept her feelings hidden, and promised herself to never let them get on her way of her duties to the Qun.

However, three months later, she understood her Tama’s words.

She was already out of bed, watching the imekaris while Tama was away. She’d left this morning with a stern look on her face, and asked her to watch the children and not to disturb Kost. Ashkaari knew the boy had been ill for the last couple of days, so she nodded, figuring she went to call for the healer again.

Instead, she came back with two stern-looking men carrying heavy chains and a metal collar in their hands.

“Tama?” Ashkaari called out, a cold feeling running down her throat and settling heavily on the pit of her stomach. She rose to her feet, but all three adults ignored her, marching straight to Kost’s cabin and walking in. Long seconds passed, the girl’s mind reeling, wondering, worrying-- then the screams came.

Her feet carried her before she could think on it, and she pushed the door of the cabin open and dived inside forcefully. Lying belly up on his bed, Kost was kicking and screaming while both men above him held him down, one pressing him to the mattress by his bony shoulders while the other struggled to latch the collar around his neck.

“ _Ashkaari!!!_ ” Kost cried out once he spotted her, his eyes wide and teary, and filled with nothing but  _fear_ , but before she could reply, her Tama appeared before her, blocking her vision and pushing her back out of the cabin as she tried to squirm away, door closing back again and muffling Kost’s desperate pleas.

“No,  _no, nononono,_ what are they doing to Kost,  _let me_   _go_!” She screamed, over and over again, ignoring her Tama’s words of comfort and reassurance and drowning them out with her begging, until her Tama kneeled down to Ashkaari’s eye level and tightened the grip on her arms, shaking her hard and finally managing to snap her out of it.

“ _Listen to me_ , Imekari!” The Tamassran shouted, her voice booming and making the whole forest around their little village quiet down, only Kost’s cries from inside the cabin being heard, shrilling out and throughout the open area of the yard. The sound of it combined with her inability to go to his aid make Ashkaari want to puke. “Kost has finally been assigned his role. He is Saarebas.”

Ashkaari gasped, eyes widening. “ _No_ ,” she whispered, looking back at the cot. She’d never seen him using magic before, surely he couldn’t...? “No, that’s not... it has to be a mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake, Ashkaari. He burned himself with his own magic two nights ago. I waited until his wounds healed enough to call forth the Arvaarad. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to frighten you, and he begged me not to do so.” A pause, and she whispered, softly. “I know you two were close. I am sorry, Ashkaari.”

“What... what is going to happen to him now?” She asked, her whole body shaking. The screams inside the cabin had finally come to a halt, but somehow it didn’t make her feel any better.

“They’ll train him until he’s ready to serve the Antaam in Seheron.”

Bound, leashed, iron mask in his face, mouth sewn shut and horns serrated down to nubs. Ashkaari had only seen one Saarebas in her life, the one that was kept in Par Vollen to train the new “recruits”. The sight had sent chills down her spine, down from the numb, blank look he had on his eyes, to how frightening and awful it was to see the stitches that pulled on his lips when he spoke. She’d hoped then that she didn’t have to see yet another Saarebas in her life.

And now Kost, sweet, shy and gentle Kost, would be like that too, the life beat and trained out of him, a mere tool for the Antaam’s front line, devoid of life and voice and free will. An asset for the soldiers to use at their whim.

_A tool_. But wasn’t everyone in the Qun much of the same, she wondered. Demanded to be devoid of personal feelings, of personal wishes. Anything that benefited the individual and not the collective was not only frowned upon, but strictly forbidden, like Kost’s collection of pebbles, like Ashkaari’s happiness. The only difference was that they weren’t in chains, weren’t beat and forced to submit like the Saarebas were – that is, until you were sent to the reeducators.

Slowly, slowly, it all dawned on Ashkaari, like pieces of a puzzle that were slowly placed together. Deep down, what was being done to Kost was being done to  _all of them_ , only in a more subtle way, under the pretext that the individual didn’t matter, only the whole did.

The door of the cabin opened, and Kost was dragged out like a leashed animal, a thick chain being used as a lead and both his arms bound to the collar on his neck. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, and his mouth was agape as he gasped for air, his breath shallow like he couldn’t breathe. He looked crestfallen, the left side of his face and his left arm wrinkly with burn marks, bleeding freely on some spots. And right then, right there, she  _knew_.

Koslun was  _wrong_. The individual  _did_ matter. And she didn’t buy – _couldn’t_ buy anymore – the spiel that Saarebas were dangerous  _bas_ , not now that she knew Kost was one, her gentle, quiet and scared Kost, tall and scrawny and fragile, hazel eyes wide and bright, white hair curly and fluffy under her hand.

The Qun was  _wrong_.

“Asit tal-eb, Tama. I understand,” she lied, pinching her lips together as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Her Tama waved her head and hugged Ashkaari tightly, sighing against her neck. The girl hesitated, but hugged back.

“I’m sorry, Ashkaari. I wish it didn’t have to get to this.”

_I’m sorry too_ , she thought, her mind already working on plans of action.

Tonight, she’d leave the Qun behind and never look back.

\---

Ashkaari sneaked out of her own cabin by nightfall, careful not to make a sound and wake up her roommates. She filled a bag with beef jerky and a skin of water, plus a couple of blankets and Kost’s favourite pebble, which she stole from his room before anyone went there to change the sheets and discard the boy’s few personal items. Ashkaari knew the food would probably be just enough for the two of them for maybe one day, but she figured it’d be best to worry about that once they were both already out of Par Vollen.

How to escape the island was the biggest issue. Remaining in it was out of the picture; anyone would eventually recognize them, or have half a mind to take them both to a tamassran lest they were found hiding around in the woods.  _A boat_ , she thought on her way to the city. Either a small one, big enough for the two of them, like the ones that were usually kept ashore by ropes at the port, or a big trading ship, where they could sneak into the basement and hide until they were in Rivain or wherever else the ship was headed. A boat would have no food or water, and she had no idea how long the two of them would take to row all the way to the nearest shore without being spotted, but in a ship they could easily get caught by a sailor. Ashkaari decided she’d worry about it later, once she found Kost, and kept going.

The walk to Qunandar was short and uneventful in the dead of night, but Ashkaari still kept her ears perked up and her feet light as feather. She vaguely remembered the placement of the building where they kept the new recruits for the antaam: next to the southern corner from one of the biggest pyramids in the city. It was there where Ashkaari first saw the Saarebas, and she was pretty sure that Kost would be somewhere in there, most likely under his care. The full moon in the sky was covered by heavy grey clouds that threatened rain, and the strong winds made the lanterns on the streets flicker and dance, making her nary invisible in the trembling shadows of the city, and quietly she thanked Koslun for this small blessing.

When Ashkaari reached the building, she blindly picked the lock to the front doors and crawled in around the empty hallways, trying to see in the complete darkness and remember where the Saarebas’ room was from that one time she visited the biulding.  _Down the hallway, to the left, three doors to the right_. Ashkaari tiptoed quietly but swiftly, until she faced the door she believed was the right one. It was closed, and all was quiet, but a faint light could be seen from under it. She took a deep breath, placed her hand on the knob, verifying that it was unlocked, and pushed it open.

Three people were inside the room. One was a girl, younger than she was, sleeping soundly on the only bed by the corner. Her lips were sewn shut and her nubby horns seemed to have been burned down to stop from growing, and her arms and legs were bound by heavy looking chains, which clacked noisily as they rose and fell with her breathing. The other was an older man, awake and sitting on the floor opposite from the door, back to the wall and legs crossed. His horns were serrated down to the root, and a thick collar rested around his neck and collarbone, so big and wide it hid the lower half of his face, the bright eyes behind the mask watching blankly as she walked in. Ashkaari recognized him to be the same Saarebas from all those years ago, and she shivered.

The third person, also awake and sitting almost the very same way except for his knees, drawn tightly to his chest, was Kost.

“ _Ashkaari_...!” He exclaimed, voice as low as possible, body shaking as if he was cold.  _Vashedan_ , the girl thought, eying the dry blood around Kost’s sewed up lips and the way he winced when he spoke. Her eyes drifted up, nervously, but she sighed upon seeing that his curly horns were still intact. “What are you...?”

“Come on, Kost. We’re leaving,” Ashkaari whispered back, gesturing with her hand, and he widened his eyes, looking down at his lap.

“But...! I can’t!” He whined, gesturing to his bound hands, the shackles and chains rattling. The Saarebas, who was watching both children carefully, turned to Kost, reaching towards him and inclining his head forward, as if asking for permission. Kost looked at Ashkaari, like a silent question, and at Ashkaari’s wide-eyed shrug, Kost looked back at the older mage, slowly crawling towards him.

He took the boy’s thick chains on both hands, and after mere seconds they shone blue, frost covering the metal’s surface, and with a rough pull it all came apart, the mineral crumbling easily after being weakened by the ice. Kost looked in wonder, and then held his wrists firmly in place as the Saarebas got rid of the remaining links the very same way, leaving behind only the runed collar on his neck and wrists.

“Go. And don’t look back,” the Saarebas said, his voice deep and rough with disuse, and Kost nodded, getting up to his feet and running to stand next to Ashkaari.

“Thank you,” she whispered quickly before closing the door again, sprinting down the hallway where she’d come from, hand to hand with her best friend.

\---

The pier was a lot more complicated than predicted.

The smaller boats were out of the question, given how weak and how emotionally drained Kost was, but given that only Qunari ships were allowed to anchor, and how there was always someone inside the ships to look after them, it was rather difficult for both children to go unnoticed. More than once they were nearly seen, managing to dodge out of view at the last possible second, and Ashkaari kept looking around frantically, desperately trying to come up with a plan.

Suddenly, Ashkaari saw the perfect plan dancing before her eyes. A dozen or more crates of apple were left unattended until dawn, near the ramp of a docked ship. She gestured for Kost to follow her, and quickly they emptied half of one of the crates onto a flour sack that they’d found lying around. Once empty enough, they tied the bag, quickly hiding it on a curb a few feet from the crates, and crawled in, half lying and half burrowing themselves atop the fruits before closing the crate completely.

They hastily punched holes onto the lid, and then it was just a matter of waiting.

When dawn came, both children were already dozing off, but awoke with the sounds of voices and stomping feet. The apple crates around them were hauled up and pushed around, and when their own crate was lifted, no one apparently noticed anything unusual about it.

The apples were taken to the basement, which was closed off, and when Ashkaari was certain no one else was around, she crawled off, helping Kost out by his hand. They settled on a corner of the ship, listening to the sounds of the sailors arranging everything before lifting the anchor, when Ashkaari looked at Kost, pulling a small knife from her boot.

“Here, let me get those stitches off.”

Kost jumped a little at the sudden sound after so much silence, but nodded, allowing Ashkaari to turn his head and snap each piece of string one by one. He winced when she pulled them off, blood oozing out of the freshly open wounds, but said nothing.

“There,” she announced once she was finished. “I brought some bandages, and an ointment for the road. We should clean them up before they infect.”

Again, Kost only nodded, but allowed Ashkaari to pull the cream off the bag, along with clean bandages, and spread it on the places on his arm and shoulders where the arvaarad were careless and broke the healing burn wounds. A dab of water from their skin was used to clean off the blood from his lips, and a bit of ointment was placed there, too, just for precaution.

Once done, she offered him the skin and he took it, greedily gulping half of it down until he caught a hold of himself.

“Sorry,” he whispered, handing her the skin back, and she waved her head.

“Nothing to be sorry for. You needed that.”

“No, I... I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. About me.”

Ashkaari paused, letting the words sink in. “Since when?” She asked, finally, and Kost picked at his sock, not looking up.

“Since I was twelve. I... never used it deliberately. Always held it back. Made sure not to let anyone know. I thought that, if I did that, then maybe... maybe I could live a normal life, you know? I wouldn’t have to be Saarebas.” He sighed, took a deep, shaky breath, and bit his lip. “But then I... I saw a rage demon in my sleep. Two days ago. And Tama tried to wake me up because apparently I was thrashing in bed. And when I did... I burst in flames, and couldn’t put it out. I was lucky that I didn’t burn the whole cabin down.”

Ashkaari stared at him, worry bubbling in her chest. A demon had visited Kost when he was most vulnerable, and he’d fended it off, all on his own, but would he manage it the next time? Would Ashkaari be there to help him? She wanted to, more than anything, for Kost to trust her. So she crawled closer, touching arms with him and lying her head on his shoulder. He tensed, but quickly relaxed and rested his cheek atop her head.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” she whispered, reaching down for his hand and twining their fingers together. “I’m not afraid of you, Kost. We’re gonna be ok.”

A small hiccup signed the fall of the first tear, and Ashkaari held him tightly, promising not to ever let go as the boat rocked and left the port of Par Vollen.

\---

The trip was awful, but it could’ve been worse.

They hid the entire time in the basement, stealing the juicy apples when they were either hungry or thirsty, and snacking on the beef jerkies. The blankets proved useful for sleeping, since the frigid sea waters made the whole basement cold during the evenings, and the two friends huddled together for warmth day and night.

Thankfully they didn’t meet with any storms on their way, and from the sounds and movements on the docks they could faintly just tell how many days had passed. When they hit the one-week mark, the chains of the ship’s anchor could be heard slipping down into the water, and Ashkaari quickly dragged Kost to hide behind the broken and empty crate they’d claimed as their hideout.

Not a minute later the doors of the basement were pulled open, and dozens of qunari sailors came in, carrying their shipment out. Once all that was left were the half a dozen empty crates, including the one where the children hid, the door was closed and silence reigned, except for the telltale splash of water on the side of the boat.

They sneaked out once they deemed the ship empty enough, eyes and ears open for the few qunaris still aboard, and once they were successfully out in the city they mingled amongst the traders and beggars on the port, getting odd looks from the humans and elves around but mostly being left alone to their own devices.

It took a week for them to find out they were in Orlais, and another two to convince an older couple to give them a job in exchange for a roof, a bath and a few silvers every week. They did all the heavy work in the couple’s farm, miles away from the capital, handling everything the humans couldn't, and although they were weary of the two qunari children at first, they honoured their part of the deal. Soon the weeks became months, and Kost and Ashkaari finally settled in and managed to call the barn corner where they slept a home.

A year later, word quickly spread about the defeat of Corypheus and the feats of the Inquisition, going so far as to reach the door of the old couple through the mouth of a merchant who visited them every couple of months. The old woman told them about it during dinner, and her husband mentioned a qunari who was, apparently, one of the Inquisitor’s personal companions. Ashkaari’s ears perked up at that. If both mages and qunari were welcome in the Inquisition, maybe they could be, too?

She repeated the question to Kost later that evening, who quickly smiled and nodded, excited about the idea.

“Maybe someone there could teach you magic, and get your collars off,” she said, wrapped around his arms for warmth. “I think it’s worth the risk.”

Two days later, they said their goodbyes to the old Orlesian farmers, who actually cried and hugged them both on their doorstep.

“I’ll never find helpers as good as you two children,” the man lamented, and his wife pushed a single gold coin into Askaari’s hand, much to the girl’s astonishment. She tried to hand it back, telling them she couldn't possibly accept it, but they both shook their heads. The woman wrapped her wrinkled fingers around Ashkaari’s own, closing them on her palm.

“Take this, stay safe, and take care. Write when you arrive safely, ya hear me?” And ashkaari nodded, tears prickling her eyes as she laughed and hugged them both back, thanking them for everything.

The roads were rough and dusty, and after a week all by themselves, they met more travellers, heading the same way they were. The humans and elves eyed the two lone qunari with suspicion, their common choppy and jumbled and heavily accented, but quickly accepted them into their small group. Everyone, after all, was aiming for a common goal: a home and a brighter future in the castle of Skyhold. Rides at the back of coaches and horses were borrowed in exchange for strong arms to fix things and carry the ill and injured, and they travelled, and dreamed, and hoped.

Kost held on to Ashkaari’s hand and didn't let go.

\---

Bull wrapped an arm around Dorian, watching the sun setting behind the snowy hills around Skyhold. It was a cold day, and Dorian was wrapped rather tightly around one of the luxurious pelt coats he'd brought back with him from Tevinter. Dorian sighed, leaning up to place a kiss over Bull’s cheek, then settling back down against his side.

“I could stay like this forever, you know,” he sighed, watching the sky as it changed colours, and Bull hummed, placing a kiss atop the man’s head and breathing in the oils from the bath he’d taken earlier.

“I know, Kadan,” he said against the man’s hair, tightening his grip around his shoulders. The knowledge that he was going back to Tevinter soon still loomed over them, but they would survive that too. They would make it work. They already did once, and they would again.

From around the corner, Josephine came running, hair tousled around her ears and shoulders. Both Bull and Dorian straightened their back and roused to attention when she stopped before them, trying to catch her breath. Josie gave them a courtesy, if only out of habit, and eyed them both, trying (and failing) to fix her hair with the hand not holding her trusty board.

“I’m ever so sorry to interrupt your private time, but we just got a new group of refugees on the gates of Skyhold, and I believe it would benefit a couple of them greatly if both of you were there to receive them.”

Dorian and Bull looked at each other, puzzled and curious all the same, then rose to their feet, following a frantic Josephine back the way she’d come from. Along the way, Skyhold residents and workers lit up torches on the walls, illuminating their way as the darkness of the early evening began settling over the castle grounds, and halfway to the gates Dorian grasped Bull’s hand. They intertwined their fingers, squeezed tightly and kept going.

Once at the gates, however, Bull widened his eyes, understanding dawning on him as to why they needed to come personally. Two qunari children near their age of maturity, most likely tal-vashoth, sat awkwardly on a wooden bench, huddled together to protect themselves from the cold starting to seep into Skyhold. The taller of the two, a gangly, skinny boy with curly white hair and ram horns, had runed saarebas collars around his neck and wrists, and he picked awkwardly at the loose strands on the hem of his cotton shirt, biting nervously at his bottom lip. The girl next to him, short and stocky, had wild and choppy black hair and wide horns, slightly smaller but otherwise exactly like Bull’s, and she rubbed a clawed thumb idly over the boy’s opposite shoulder in what was probably a comforting gesture. Dorian frowned, but stopped a few feet away along with Bull, both allowing Josie to approach and speak to the qunaris before getting any closer.

As soon as she arrived within earshot, they looked up, and with a wide gesture Josie pointed at Bull and Dorian, smiling reassuringly as she spoke a few words to them, too softly for either men to hear. Both qunari let their mouths hang open slightly in awe at the sight of the couple, but soon the girl was widening her eyes, hand reaching up to curl around her left horn, and Bull’s chest seized up, muscles tightening painfully, his mind doing the math just like she probably was, too.

They got up from their seats, walking towards them. The boy was as tall as Bull yet much too thin, the girl just a bit shorter, reaching Dorian’s own height. They stopped before them, arms tight around themselves as they shivered with the cold. Dorian tsk’d under his breath and removed his own coat, ever the gentleman.

“You poor things are going to freeze to death,” he tutted, throwing his warm pelt around both their shoulders, making the boy flinch and the girl stare at him like he was a big, complicated puzzle. “There, much better. I’m Magister Dorian of house Pavus, and this is my partner, The Iron Bull.” The boy’s eyes widened at the titles, ‘magister’ and ‘partner’ both, and the girl’s shoulders sagged by an inch at the sound of Bull’s name, just noticeable enough for the former spy to notice. “And what should we call you two young travellers?”

“I-I’m Kost. Thank you for the kindness, Magister Pavus,” the boy stuttered as he bowed his head, accent heavy on his tongue, and then he turned to Bull, bending slightly at the waist. “Shanedan, The Iron Bull.”

“And I’m Ashkaari,” the girl said in turn, also bowing at the qunari, her eyes never leaving Bull’s single one. “Are you...” she started, making Bull nod slowly in reassurance, and quickly she shook her head and then continued speaking in qunlat. “ _Forgive me for my intrusion, but were you in Seheron’s antaam for the Ben-Hassrath under the title of Hissrad, The Iron Bull_?”

Dorian raised a brow, looking up at Bull; his qunlat was too basic just yet, but he could hear and understand some of the more common words – Seheron, Antaam, Ben-Hassrath, and most importantly,  _Hissrad_ – and work out by himself what exactly the girl had asked.

Bull nodded, shoulders stiff, wondering, searching in Ashkaari who she was, what she could be, and Dorian, from beside him, started noticing the details. The shape of her nose and jaw, the ox-like horns on her head, the slick and oily hair, pitch black as a raven instead of white, like most qunari had...

“ _Yes_ ,” he rumbled out, still in qunlat, and then breathed in just as the girl sighed out, eyes shining briefly with unshed tears. He tried to relax his muscles, his joints, and Dorian stepped closer, rubbing his hand and knuckles against his lover’s back in a soothing gesture. Ashkaari tightened her hand on the coat that hung from her shoulder, watching them both warily, and Kost pulled her closer with an arm around her torso, almost as if mimicking Dorian.

“Hissrad,” she breathed out, biting her lip and changing back to common, raw emotion dripping from her words. “ _The Iron Bull_. She said you were always most proud of your horns. I can see it now. Shanedan, The Iron Bull. I have hoped to meet you for so very long.”

Dorian gasped, the meaning behind her words hitting him head first, and he grasped at Bull’s elbow, his other hand hovering over his mouth as he looked up at him. “Oh,  _Maker_ , Amatus... I never knew you had a  _daughter_.”

“Neither did I,” Bull replied, a small smirk on his lips. He reached forward, his left hand dropping over Ashkaari’s shoulder, and the small tal-vashoth smiled widely, unashamedly happy. “Welcome to Skyhold, Imekari. Come on, let’s get you two settled in.”


End file.
